The Fire-Dwellers (23 page)

He laughs and turns towards her, refilling both their glasses. Stacey cannot think of anything intelligent to say, but it does not seem to matter. Luke drinks and goes on, and she realizes it is not her opinion he is seeking.

Goddam, Stacey – I’ve gone and talked about it, haven’t I? Not much, though. I could’ve gone into a lot more detail. I haven’t given away much. Anyway, maybe it’ll all get changed. I know the basic situation’s been done before, but not by me. What kind of remark is that? Egotistical? Or just self-protective? I can’t think of any way to end the story, and I guess some sort of ending is required, although sometimes I wonder why. Why not just stop and let the reader make up his own ending? Don’t get me wrong. I don’t expect you to say. It’s my problem. Sometimes I wish

Wish what?

That I had less imagination or more talent. I don’t wish that often. Mostly, it’s okay just to
be
. Only sometimes you get these delusions of purpose. But we don’t have to mean anything.

I’m not convinced.

Aren’t you, merwoman?

I don’t think you are, either.

Don’t you, Stacey?

Stacey puts her fingers on the hairs of his arm. He glances at her, unsmiling. Then, after a moment, he begins to stroke her wrist.

  — He seems so damn young. And he wants me to say
Everything’s all right
. He, too. Even though he knows I can’t. How peculiar. Luke, hold me. Stacey, don’t beg. Am I?

Luke’s hands are on her shoulders, pulling her inward towards him. Then his tongue is in her mouth. She is surprised by the force of her own response, the intensity and explicitness of her pleasure.

  — Stacey, ease up. Not so fast. Now I see what the trouble is. I’ve grown unaccustomed to the ritual of the preliminaries. I’m out of touch with the rules. I’ve only gone to bed with one man for a hell of a long time, when the byplay was necessary. Rein in, Stacey, or Luke will think you’re a whore. Well, he’ll be wrong, then. Whores don’t want it that much. Only women like me, who think there may not be that much time left. Luke – Luke? Am I begging? All right, so I’m begging.

Luke withdraws slightly and looks at her, questioningly.

Stacey – if you want to go home, now’s the time

No

So okay, eh?

Yes

Her thought processes switch off, and she is momentarily saying nothing inside herself. She reacts as she once did to jazz, taking it as it was told to her unverbally, following the beat. Luke takes her hand and puts it on his sex. The surge in her own sex is so great that she presses herself hard against him, urging him. Luke laughs.

You really want it, don’t you?

Yes

But when they are taking their clothes off, thought returns unwelcomely to her.

  — I don’t want to expose myself to him. I’m not perfect enough. He’s too young. I’ve got on me the stretchmarks of four kids, the lines of dead silver worming across my belly. Will he notice? He’d have to be blind, not to. I can’t help it. I’m not twenty any more. The padding of fat on my hips and on the inner reaches of my thighs. Goddam. I never knew it would be like this. It’s different with Mac – he’s seen me alter so gradually that he hardly notices, or if he does at least it doesn’t make him want to throw up. Or so I like to think. Mac
knows what I looked like when I was twenty-three, and I didn’t look bad then, in fact I looked pretty good. I don’t want Luke to see me as I am now. I want him to see me as I was then. He hasn’t been knocked about that much yet. Men preserve themselves for longer than women, anyhow. Mac’s got life’s scribblings under his eyes, and his belly isn’t so absolutely taut as it once was, but it is a damn sight tauter than mine, let’s face it. Four kids have ruined me. It’s not their fault. It would have happened anyway – at least I’ve got something to show for it. Oh God I wish I looked better. What you need, Stacey girl, is a kaftan with a small zipper. Does he think I look too terrible?

Luke I’m not twenty

He puts his fingers across her mouth, gently but also reprovingly.

Sh

He is certain, assured, unscarred. The hair on his rib cage is dark brown, almost black, and his thighs are dark-haired, his sex hardsoft long eager to be in her. He puts a cushion under her head on the Arabic-patterned rug, and kneels above her.

Merwoman you’re trembling

Am I? I guess it’s because I want

What you want is this

Then she takes his sex in her hands and guides it into her. She comes before he does, but she is still there when he reaches it. She feels him shudder, return to himself. Then he rests on her, and she explores his skin. His voice is barely audible.

Stacey. That was

Yes

You really loved it, didn’t you? You wanted it for a long time, didn’t you?

Yes

  — But that’s not true, either. It makes me sound like I was deprived for lo these many years. It wasn’t like that at all. It was something else. It’s too complicated to explain, and anyway, he doesn’t want to know. Maybe it gives him something, to imagine he’s like the rain in a dry year? And in a way, he is. But not in quite the way he thinks. What does he think? I’ll never know. Was he only being kind? Did he want me? I’ll never know. So accept it, doll. I can’t. I want to know. But you can’t. I know. It might be worse, really to know. I know that, too.

Luke is looking at her in what appears to be astonishment.

Hey. Whatsamatter?

She has drawn up her left arm and is trying to see her watch.

I have to go home. My God, what time is it? I should’ve gone home long ago.

Luke shuts her eyelids with his fingers. She can feel his relaxation, his sleepiness.

You don’t have to go. Stay the night.

Stacey’s hands take in his jawbone, his collarbone, the brown hair under his arms.

Luke I’d like to but I can’t

Why not?

Because because

You want to sleep with me, all night, so why don’t you?

I can’t. I can’t stay away all night. It’s not possible.

You’re a strange woman.

That’s not being strange. The other would be.

Okay. That’s your problem, I guess.

She dresses swiftly, and by the time she has her hair combed Luke is also dressed and standing by the door. He kisses her lightly.

So long, then. Stacey.

  — I actually want to thank him. I want to explain myself to him, make myself real to him. I want to say – look, this is what I’m like. It would take too much time, and he’s been patient enough.

So long.

The drive home is endless. Stacey hazards quick glances at her watch and each time finds that it is later than she imagined it could possibly be.

  — I should’ve been home two hours ago. Okay, so Mac won’t be home, but the kids will have been home for ages. What’ll I say? What’ll they think? I don’t care. I don’t give a damn. I do, though. Katie? Ian? Duncan? Jen? What if they think I’ve had an accident or something? What if they phone the police? They wouldn’t – they’d phone Mac. God, just don’t let them phone Mac. Okay, Sir, so that’s not a proper request – you don’t need to remind me. I refuse to feel guilty. Be patient, God. I will, no doubt. Just give a little time. Don’t begrudge me a couple of free hours. I feel marvelous, if you really want to know. I feel set up. Luke. His is a little wider than Mac’s but not quite so long. Bitch. Only a whore would compare. That’s not true. Who could help it? It’s not a qualitative difference, anyway. It doesn’t matter a damn to me. That’s not what is important. Would a guy think of it that way, though? I don’t suppose so. They’d see it as a personal assessment or – how do I know what they’d think? Wouldn’t it be strange if I could ever stop thinking in terms
of them
and
me?
Luke Venturi. I don’t even know who he is. I know he’s too young. Nine years – well, okay, nearly ten, then – that’s not so much difference. Luke – you did want me. Didn’t you? Did you? Well, nobody makes love with someone who absolutely repels them – he couldn’t have, if he’d felt that way. He wanted me. He wanted
me
. Do we deceive ourselves by
any chance, Stacey, doll? Very well, then, we deceive ourselves. Bugger off, voice. I’m happy as I am, at least momentarily. If only I could get out to see him more often. Luke, I couldn’t get enough of you. I’d like to go to bed with you for seven days and seven unbroken nights. I’d like to start again, everything, all of life, start again with someone like you – with you – with everything simpler and clearer. No lies. No recriminations. No unmerry-go-round of pointless words. Just everything plain and good, like today, and making love and not worrying about unimportant things and not trying to change each other.

  — All right, all right. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. My God, I actually made love with someone other than Mac.
How could I?
I’m not like that. What do you mean –
that?
I feel just fine, to be truthful. I feel like about a million dollars or so. Let us not speak in such crude terms, kid. God, I feel set up like anything. My heavens, it’s six fifteen. Faster, Stacey. The kids will be frantic.

S
tacey pulls up in front of the house on Bluejay Crescent and scrambles out of the car, her arms filled with parcels of pajamas. Inside the veranda, Katie is standing, slowly rocking Jen in the old hammock. Jen is nearly asleep. Katie has been crying and has fairly obviously only recently stopped.

  — What’s the matter? I shouldn’t have stayed away so long. It’s worried Katie. Or is she just angry? How can I ever make up for it? Is Jen ill? Is that it? God, let Jen be all right. Don’t let it be that. Please. I’ll never go away again. I swear it.

Katie – what is it?

Katie leaves off swinging the hammock and goes to Stacey, stumblingly, putting her arms around Stacey’s neck and her head on Stacey’s shoulder.

Oh Mum

What
is
it, Katie? Please, honey, just tell me.

Jen

What about her? Is she all right? She isn’t sick? Katie, I’m sorry I’m so late. I stopped in for coffee and then the traffic

  — How can I lie to her like this and expect to hear the truth from her? Sure, so tell her the truth – would that make the situation any better? What’s
wrong?

No, she’s not sick. She’s okay. I think she was just scared. Let’s go into the kitchen, Mum. I don’t want to tell you in front of her.

Okay, honey. Hush, Katie, love. Don’t cry. Just tell me what happened.

In the kitchen, Katie sits down, her head bent, the flames of her hair covering her shoulders and breasts. She has stopped crying, but her voice is strained and there is a kind of bewilderment in it.

Well, I went over to Mrs. Fogler’s to pick up Jen, like you asked me to. The door was open, see, and I was just going to ring when I heard Mrs. Fogler talking to Jen. It seemed kind of strange, what she was saying, so I listened for a minute. She was saying
The little fish doesn’t want to get eaten up but she’s silly, isn’t she? She doesn’t run away and hide. So the big fish catches her, see? Watch now – look what he’s doing to her. Nasty – he’s nasty, isn’t he?
Maybe I shouldn’t have done it, Mum, but I tore inside the living room without thinking, and Mrs. Fogler was kneeling beside the table where the fishbowl is, and she was holding Jen on a chair, I mean she had her hands on Jen’s shoulders and wouldn’t let her get down, and Jen was sort of squirming to get away and Mrs. Fogler was making her look. And the big goldfish had killed the other one and it was

Oh Katie

Then Mrs. Fogler looked up and saw me. Mum – she looked sort of – I don’t know – frightened. I just grabbed Jen and brought her home and didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to say.

Stacey puts her arms around Katie.

There, honey. You did right.

But what
is
it with her, Mum?

I don’t know. I don’t know. I should never have left Jen with her.

Katie looks up.

No – it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know. How could you?

  — Yeh, how could I? Maybe I should’ve, though. If I hadn’t wanted so much to go out. Katie doesn’t know any of that, or she wouldn’t be so sympathetic. What’s it done to Jen? Maybe nothing; maybe something I’ll never know, something concealed, some unknown fear that’ll be part of her mental baggage from now on.

I suppose not, but I’ll never forgive myself all the same.

You shouldn’t feel that way, Mum. Listen, don’t worry, eh? Jen’s okay now. I think this trauma thing is exaggerated, anyway.

Well, we won’t leave her there again.

No. What do you think we ought to say, though? To Mrs. Fogler.

Gosh, Katie, I don’t know. What could be said? Maybe it’s better not to say anything. Maybe she’ll say something.

Yeh. Maybe.

Stacey recognizes all at once the way in which she and Katie have been talking.
We
. They have never before encountered one another as persons. At the same time, Katie has been unwittingly calling her
Mum
instead of
Mother
.

Katie – thanks

For nothing. I thought I made a mess of it. I just snatched Jen and ran.

I would’ve done the same.

Really? No, you would’ve known what to say. You always do. I never do.

I don’t always, either. Sometimes I think I hardly ever do.

Really?

Yeh.

Stacey makes the dinner and puts Mac’s in the oven for him. She cannot eat, but when the kids have eaten, she takes Jen upstairs for her bath. Jen has wakened up fully by now and insists on having her entire collection of plastic ducks, cups and teapots in the bath with her. Having soaped and rinsed her, Stacey lets her play for a while, and watches while Jen scoops up the bath water and pours it out again. Jen sings to herself, unaware that she is doing so.

  — Flower, you’re beautiful. Is she really fragile or is it just my imagination? Her arms always look so thin. But Ian wasn’t ever plump as a very young kid, either. Katie was, and so was Duncan, but that doesn’t mean anything. Probably Jen’s okay. Surely she’ll talk soon. What’s she feeling now? If only she could say. She doesn’t look upset. How can you ever tell what’s going on in anybody else’s head? Maybe it was worse for Katie than for Jen. Or maybe not. Jen was squirming to get away, Katie said. Jen – I’m sorry sorry sorry. I shouldn’t have gone out. I shouldn’t have stayed away so long. I never will again. Oh? You won’t, Stacey? You won’t ever go out to Luke’s again? Luke – I want you. I want to talk to you. I want to make love with you again – and again and again. I thought at the back of my head somewhere that I could do it only once, and then all demons would be laid to rest, laid in both meanings. I would know just once again the feeling of another man, and I would have done something that belonged only to me, was mine only, related only to me, nothing to do with any of them. Did I want to get back at Mac? Yes, that too. If it hadn’t been Luke, it would’ve been somebody else, sooner or later. But it was Luke, and now I want him again, even now,
already. Better to marry than burn, St. Paul said, but he didn’t say what to do if you married
and
burned. I can’t leave Jen with Tess any more. What is it with Tess? What can I do about it? You can’t say to somebody, pardon me but maybe you ought to see a good headshrinker. Should I tell Jake? Probably he knows. He brought the damn things home. Should I tell Mac? Yeh, and have him say I’m making a fuss about nothing. He doesn’t want to know anything difficult about me or the kids. Nothing. Okay, and now I don’t want to tell him, either, so we’re even. I can’t ever get away alone now. Bertha, maybe? With Julian on her hands all day long, crabbing away at her, she’s got enough to worry about.
I can’t go out alone
. That’s what it amounts to. Jen, honey, I love you. I love your thin arms and your wide grey eyes and that fine red-gold hair of yours. I love the way you sing without any words that nutty song you learned from Duncan, “I’m Bringing Home a Baby Bumblebee.” I love you – and resent you. No, I don’t. That’s an awful way to feel. It may be, but I feel it all the same. I can’t get away by myself because of you. And I have to get away sometimes. I have to. I’m trapped. I have to see Luke.
I have to
. Too many people here, too many crises I don’t know how to deal with, too much yakkity-yak from all of us, too few words that tell any of us a damn thing about any of the others. With Luke, everything is simple. He doesn’t complicate things. He says what he’s thinking. Luke – you make love beautifully. It was lovely. Luke, it was lovely. I can still feel him in me. Goddam Tess. Stacey, that’s barbaric of you. I don’t care. I don’t care. I want to get out of here and I can’t and one day I’ll forget that Jen was scared and I’ll get mad at her for something that isn’t her fault, for holding me here. God, Sir, don’t let it happen that way. It may though. I have a terrible temper. I always have had. My mother used to say
Stacey, you
have a terrible temper – you must learn to bank your fires
. How right she was, not that I saw it then, only thinking she’d never had any fires so couldn’t know. But they’re not that easy to bank. What if I slap Jen one day, suddenly, hard, without knowing I’m going to do it, just because she’s here and young? God, don’t let me. Stay my hand. I scare the hell out of myself when I think this way.